Who Killed Hetalia?: Murder at Monkswell Manor
by mdjabber
Summary: Alfred inherits a English countryside manor and convinces Arthur to help him turn it into an Inn. But a snowstorm leaves them trapped with their odd guests. Can they survive Arthur's cooking, the storm, and a potential murderer in their midst?
1. Chapter 1

"I don't know why you wanted to start this inn in the first place. I have plenty of places in the countryside for us to stay at, Alfred. You could just sell your grandmother's place!" Arthur irately spouted as he barged in the door with a load of firewood. He looked like a proper English country gentleman in his tweed vest, trousers, and large green overcoat. He stomped the snow off his shoes, shook his scarf out, and placed the gloves and hat on the dining room table. When he still received no answer from me, he raised his large bushy eyebrows and pointedly stared his green eyes directly into mine.

I sighed and propped myself against the table. "Do I really have to explain this again? She left it to me. It is simple as that. She is family and if she wanted it to be sold she would have sold. What kind of hero would I be if I went against her dying wishes?" I proudly proclaimed with a smirk and twinkle of my blue eyes.

"Fine. Well at least, tell me, why the name Monkswell Manor?" Arthur fired angrily with a gesture to the wooden sign I had just finished painting that proudly proclaimed the name of our new bed and breakfast.

"What do you mean?" I asked hurt. I turned to look at the sign in time to notice that I had stupidly left off the 's' on the sign. I sighed and grabbed the black paintbrush I had just set down as Arthur so kindly interrupted me. I quickly painted a small 's' in between and stepped back to admire my handiwork.

"Have you even heard of the famous English play _Mousetrap_?" Arthur retorted.

"No, why? What does that have to do with the name of our Inn? I think it is a perfectly lovely name or whatever you British chaps say!" I turned around quickly to fire back at him, accidentally letting black paint fly off the paintbrush to splatter across Arthur's jacket.

His brows narrowed and he pursed his lips. With a sigh he said "Fine. Fine. No need to get touchy. I just rather think it rude of you to have never heard of the longest running play in England and its bad luck to name your inn after one in a murder mystery."

"Come on Arthur! You are such a superstitious bloke. Believing in bad luck. Did your little fairy friends tell you about the curse of Monkswell manor or something?" I said teasingly.

Unfortunately, SOMEONE just can't take a joke and frowning Arthur took off his paint splattered jacket threw it on the dining room table and screamed, "THEY ARE REAL YOU BLOODY WANKER!"

_Ok. Ok. Sore spot._ I decided to stop this fight before Arthur had a heart attack or killed something or me. "Whatever. Just let my grandmother's house name be. Anyways, Monkswell Guest House just doesn't have any pizzazz to the name. Manor flows better." I explained patiently.

"Flows? Get a bloody dictionary Alfred." With that he stormed out of the room.

"Hey! No need to storm from the room . . . whatever. Suits me just fine. WAIT NOT TOWARDS THE KITCHEN!" I screamed as I realized in what direction he was headed. I did not want the guests to die of food poisoning or be forced to choke down burnt scones.


	2. Chapter 2

I ignored Alfred's shrieks of protest as I stormed toward the kitchen. I was set on making a proper cup of tea to calm my nerves before dealing with the bloody scoundrel again. Really, sometimes he can be such a nuisance! In the half hour since I have arrived home, I have already encountered him nearly redecorating the Manor's walls, in a demonstration he called "painting a sign", narrowly avoided him foiling a surprise as he rushed to unload the vehicle, not to mention crushed me to death in a massive greeting he calls a "hug", and discovered the furnace almost burned out completely, which left ME to go out in the cold to fetch more firewood. Not to mention he had now ruined a perfectly good jacket of mine. I really hope the guests show up soon and divert Alfred's attention away from me, because if he keeps annoying me at this rate, then he is going to wind up dead.

I catch sight of a blonde head poking around the corner to peer into the kitchen. I nod to Alfred before I turn to set the kettle on the stove and sit to wait for the water to boil.

Alfred, having determined I have so far managed to not burn the kitchen down, for once seems to sense my mood and seems content to leave me alone in silence as he attempts to inconspicuously busy himself with tasks in the kitchen in order to keep an eye on me. He fails.

"Alfred, would you please stop wiping that counter? This is the fifth time you have gone over it. Just sit down, will you." I snap finally.

He turns and I catch his hurt look in the split second before he covers it up with a grin. He strides over and takes a seat next to me, collapsing his head and arms flat on the tabletop in boredom. He stares at me with those big blue eyes of his, and I feel my cheeks heat up. Only because of the heat of the kitchen of course! Not to mention, how unnerving it is to be stared at by those big and innocent eyes of his. They always look like he is trying to ask me a silent question, imploring me to answer some unspoken comment. I turn away, thankfully, as the kettle announces the boiling water with a loud whistle that breaks our silence.

Alfred sits up suddenly, almost knocking my hand as I pour the boiling water into my teacup, which is already filled with my favorite Darjeeling tealeaves.

"Ahhh! Sorry! I'm so sorry Iggy." He blurts out the words, a mile a minute, as he grabs the kettle before it can spill, and finishes pouring the water into my cup. Alfred purposely avoids my gaze as he sets the kettle down in the middle of the table. He takes a deep breath and gazes straight into my eyes. "I am sorry for everything . . . you know. Not just the tea but, uhhhh . . . .Our fight, earlier, and all . . ." he stumbles awkwardly while rubbing his hand sheepishly through his hair.

_Damn it. Why is he so bloody adorable at times like this! _I think to myself angrily. _How on earth am I supposed to stay mad at him when he is just so . . . Alfred? _

Alfred squirms awkwardly under my unwavering glaze, obviously uncomfortable with my silence. I smile to myself as I take a sip of my tea, and decide to put him out of his misery. "It's all right, Alfred. I accept your apology. I suppose I may have overreacted just a tad, as well. I am sorry as well. Now, would you like some tea before our guests arrive?" I say politely to him.

A grin breaks across Alfred's face. "No thanks, but I would love a cup of hot chocolate if we have any! Oh and I am sure I can get the paint out of your jacket if you let me try. We have some soap and oxiclean and . . ." he continues rambling on until my lips meet his.

I smirk as he hungrily presses his lips against mine, his tongue pushing, begging for entry. I pull away just a little, teasingly, before coming back to allow him entry, but soon pushing his tongue aside as I plunge my own into Alfred's soft and plump mouth to explore the sides of his gums. A minute later we pull apart. I can still taste Alfred: a mix of tobacco smoke, chocolate, and hamburger that somehow blends surprisingly well.

"You always do know how to shut me up, don't you Iggy?" Alfred quips with a grin. "Anyways, I made up a list of guests and the rooms to place them in. It is on the hall table if you need it. I am going to go change before I start up dinner. They should be here soon, so if the doorbell rings, be sure to greet them. Try not to be to grumpy!" Alfred said before he strode out of the kitchen and up the back stairs. I nodded at his retreating figure and leaned back to sip my tea while skimming the newspaper.

The front page of the paper declared news of a murder in London. I read the article with mild interest. _Hmmmm. The police have reported a shadowy figure in a dark overcoat, light grey scarf, and dark felt hat as being seen leaving the scene of the crime. The murderer is still on the loose, and all citizens are warned to be on the lookout as the individual is very dangerous and has already taken one victim. The woman that was killed . . ._ I stopped reading as the doorbell rang.

It seemed the first guest had arrived. Leaving my cup of tea unfinished on the table I grabbed the newspaper and stuffed it into my paint splattered overcoat before hanging it up on the coat rack as I headed for the front door. Taking a deep breath I straightened my tie before opening the door to greet our first guest.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/n: Wow, this is my first author's note, ever! Ok, first off I would like to apologize for the lack of action going on in this very short chapter. Don't worry the story IS DEFINITELY going to pick up soon. XD _

_Second of all, I know things can be a bit confusing if you are not familiar with the plot of Mousetrap, so I have decided to add a little synopsis/prelude at the beginning of the entire story. In the synopsis I explain the basic plot and original characters, but I don't want to reveal to much about the events since it will ruin the suprise that unfolds. Therefore, at the end of the story I will finish summarizing the original play's events, that way the story won't be ruined. If you are familiar with the play it helps add to some of the subtle humor I worked in, so if you have time and are interested in it, then I suggest you run to the nearest library and pick up a copy of the famous English play by Agatha Christie!_

_Ok, to end this super long author's note I just want to say: Enjoy the show-ehrmm- I mean story. _

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><p>After I left Iggy in the kitchen, now safely assured that the house was not going to be burned down by what he calls cooking, I quickly hurried to my- our room . . . <em>oh my god how nice it was to be able to call it OUR room! Finally. <em>I was so glad my grandmother had left me her place in England, because . . . well now I could finally truly share a piece of property with England himself! I mean the Arthur-England of course, not the . . . oh you know what I mean. Anyways, now we finally could own something together, something that was not just America's-which-was-shared-with-England or England's-which-was-shared-with-America BUT Something-which-was-England-and-America's!

As I picked out a nice, but still warm, pair of brown khaki pants, a clean long-sleeve t-shirt with the American flag on it, and a warm hoodie declaring "Hero" on the front (a gift from Arthur . . . well I picked it out, but still-) I thought. _Yes, I do that sometimes! _Anyways, I thought about Agatha, my grandmother . . . though technically she wasn't ever my biological grandmother, you know with me being a nation and all, I still always called her my grandmother. She had been a sweet old woman, a great friend, and a big help whenever I needed advice on Arthur . . . and dating and stuff. I mean, I don't even remember how I first met the woman of duel nationality, part English and part American! It wasn't like she had found me lost-in-the-stupid-streets-of-London-in-the-pouring-rain-bawling-my-heart-out-and-cursing-the-world-after-a-really-bad-fight-with-Arthur, or anything like that . . . but IF she had, then she would have taken me to a nice, warm, and cozy coffee shop, ordered me some hot chocolate and edible scones, and sat down to talk with me. Yah, and then she would have somehow managed to get the confused counter person to fetch a warm towel from the back room storage closet, given me some awesome advice, and drawn a map of the surrounding area so that I could get back to where I was staying.

_ Yah, Agatha was a great woman, bless her soul in heave. I sure would miss her._ I sighed as I finished pulling on the warm hoodie, and flopped onto the bed. I let my mind fill with countless memories of our afternoons together over the past ten years or something like that . . . human time kind of blurred in my mind since as a nation I lived so long in comparison.

She had left this manor to me in her will, and shortly after I had the FABULOUS idea to turn it into an inn. It was too beautiful a place to leave unoccupied during the time Arthur and I weren't staying in it, so I thought _Let's turn it into a bed and breakfast!_ I mean, Arthur and I needed a break from our time-consuming jobs as nations, and what better way than fixing up the old place and getting the inn started. It was not like we would be able to always live here and run it, no we would eventually have to hire some people to do that for us, but why not at least get it going and on its feet.

Yup. Then, I faced the hard part . . . convincing Arthur. So, how did I do it, you ask? Let's just say, I have my ways. _Oh!_ I jumped up off the bed. _Was that the doorbell? _I quickly scrambled downstairs. I mean, not that I was worried Iggy would accidentally insult and/or try to use some magic-curse-thinga-ma-bob on our first guest and scare them away . . . heh. No, nothing like that! I was just excited. Yah. That's it! Super duper duper excited.

But, that doesn't mean that as I scrambled down the stairs I didn't send a mental message towards the front hall along the lines of: _Don't worry guest-tiieee! The HERO is on the way! _


End file.
